


Fic: whatever a moon has always meant (Arthur/Merlin, NC-17)

by tracy7307



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307





	Fic: whatever a moon has always meant (Arthur/Merlin, NC-17)

**Title** whatever a moon has always meant  
 **Rating** NC-17  
 **Pairing** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Content labels** rimming  
 **Word Count** 7,657  
 **Summary** modern grad school AU. Arthur and Merlin are two tortured students at Northwestern University, and someone’s carrying a big torch.  
 **Author’s Note** This was written for my schmoo [](http://rebeccaann08.livejournal.com/profile)[**rebeccaann08**](http://rebeccaann08.livejournal.com/) , because we both agree that grad school should involve sexy men fucking. Thanks to my fantastic betas/cheerleaders [](http://myashke.livejournal.com/profile)[**myashke**](http://myashke.livejournal.com/) and [](http://accordingtomel.livejournal.com/profile)[**accordingtomel**](http://accordingtomel.livejournal.com/). Title is borrowed from e.e. cumming’s _i carry your heart with me_

  
Students wearing Northwestern University hoodies, bicyclists, cars and taxis all tumble over each other to get their varied destinations on Chicago’s Sheridan Road. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of university life, Arthur Pendragon is nearly taken out by a messenger bicyclist and decides to take a break from his daily run. A small apartment building stands sandwiched between a Starbucks and Frankie’s Books. The door to the aging four-story red brick building opens to a narrow hallway strewn with bikes, trainers, and orange recycling bins, which Arthur carefully sidesteps.

The steady thump of music and shouts of overzealous neighbors fill the hallway, and Arthur winds his way up the tight stairwell to the third floor landing, passing 3A and tapping on the door of 3B, labeled _Emrys_.

“What!” Merlin barks, slightly muffled. Arthur rolls his eyes. Apparently paper-writing must not be going so well.

“It’s me,” Arthur says as he turns the doorknob and steps inside Merlin’s miniscule flat.

Merlin’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room (which doubles as the bedroom) floor. His laptop is balanced on his knees, its glow reflecting white in his glasses. Articles, packets, folders and various books are scattered around him, as if he was the eye of some great paper hurricane.

“Hey,” Merlin says without looking up, eyes trained on the monitor.

“Fuck’s sake, Merlin,” Arthur says, stepping gingerly on patches of carpet visible through the paper piles, stretched from one wall of the apartment to the other. “How do you even have room for everything?”

“I don’t have room. I don’t have time. I don’t have any idea what the fuck I’m doing.” He gestures with his arm at the papers around him, then pulls back his hand to remove his glasses and rub his eyes. “When did Morrison say our second part of the literature review is due?”

“Next Tuesday,” Arthur says, squatting, picking up a random packet. “So you did find a fifteenth article about your topic?”

“Yes. It took me four hours yesterday just to find it. _Four hours_ Arthur, just to find it, let alone compare it with the other articles and draw connections to- Hey, put that down! Eugh!” Merlin exclaims, finally looking at Arthur’s sweaty body. His nose wrinkles in disgust.

Arthur drops the packet back into the sea of literature. “Watch it, Emrys, or I’ll come over there and give you a giant, wet hug.” He immediately envisions pulling Merlin’s slight frame against his body and heat unfurls in his chest. He’s glad he’s already flushed from running.

“Stay where you are and back away from my articles, you great sweaty oaf,” Merlin commands, tilting the laptop’s lid closed.

Arthur holds his hands up in surrender and stands, looking down at Merlin as he stretches, white tee shirt riding high on his belly, a patch of dark curls leading down to the waistband of his jeans. Arthur swallows.

“I need to get the hell out of here,” Merlin says. “Can’t even stretch my legs. Want to take our stuff over to the library? Get some work done?”

Arthur considers this, thinking of his own set of articles in his apartment which need to be summarized and reviewed in relation to each other and towards his topic. This is not so different from any of the other reflections, charts, comparisons, studies, rewrites, and every other form on torture inflicted upon them over the last three years of their graduate program at Northwestern. The library has always served them well in focusing their attention on whatever assignment they’d been given – but suddenly, he remembers his father’s offer.

“I have an even better idea than the library. Got any plans this weekend? Other than finishing this paper?”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “None. What do you have up your sleeve?”

“Father’s out of town this weekend. Some giant cock-up at the Wisconsin branch.” Being the CEO of Pendragon Industries always kept Uther in the first-class cabin of one luxury plane or another. “He phoned to say I could use the house if I’d like.”

Merlin is quiet. Arthur watches indecision flicker across his features; he can nearly feel his friend’s humbleness radiating forth. Merlin’s there on scholarship, always scraping by, never asking Arthur for anything even though Arthur could well afford it. Even before Arthur’s feelings surfaced, he’d offered to let Merlin room with him in the past; Merlin turned him down.

“We’d have the entire place to ourselves, Merlin. Morgana is still on study abroad in Spain. Think about it. We could use father’s study for several hours, get some work done and take breaks in the pool.”

“A pool?” Merlin straightens up a bit. “You didn’t mention a pool before.”

“Yes. An Olympic-sized pool, to be exact. There’s also the bar.”

Merlin suddenly appears much more receptive. “A pool, a bar _and_ a study?”

Arthur indicates the mess of papers across the floor. “We can lay our articles across the large table in the study, Merlin. It’s a win-win for us. Go pack your bag and meet me at my place in an hour, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees.

“See you,” Arthur says, backing away towards the door.

“Make sure you shower beforehand, Arthur! You smell like cow dung!”

Suddenly the weekend seems much more promising.

~*~

The water streams steadily down Arthur’s skin, the warmth of it making his exercised muscles feel sated and limber. That contented post-run feeling washes over him, so similar to that lovely post-orgasmic boneless sensation.

Just thinking of the word orgasm brings mind images he’s held onto for months, conjuring them whenever his cock fills with lust: that time he’d played football with Merlin, sweaty afterwards and retreating to his apartment, Merlin in his shower, emerging from the bathroom wearing only a towel. Arthur imagines Merlin hadn’t dressed in his room, that he’d walked right up to Arthur, kissed him, pressed him into the wall, sank to his knees, pulled Arthur’s cock from his shorts, nosing and licking it, looking up at him with blue eyes blown with lust.

Arthur squirts a dollop of conditioner in his hand and runs it over his thick cock, a satisfied breath escaping his lips as he strokes from base to tip and back again. He starts a steady motion, imagining Merlin’s full pink lips wrapped around him, sucking him hard, and Arthur places his arm against the tiles, resting his forehead there, fucking into his fist.

He strokes and strokes and saves the best part for last: the part where he imagines Merlin sliding his slender fingers into his arse, opening him up, burying his cock and fucking Arthur against the tile wall.

It only takes a few tugs before Arthur’s coming with a muttered curse, shooting over the tiles and over his fingers before it’s washed away quickly by the streaming water. He’s not quite sure when this started happening, this secret he keeps buried under lock and key. He doesn’t even tell Gwaine about this urge, and tells Gwaine everything (even about the time when Morgana walked in on him with his jeans around his ankles, wanking to some internet porn and she ran out shrieking like a banshee) .

Arthur regains his composure, lifts his heavy limbs and finishes washing up. He thinks of his friendship with Merlin: his easy smile, his fleeting touches, bumping knees under the table during their classes, his late-night phone calls just to make sure that Arthur had finished that reflection _yes, I finished a half-hour ago, thank you very much mummy Emrys_.

Fear twists in Arthur’s stomach. What if he cocks it all up? What if he makes a move and Merlin’s not interested? What if this weekend, and whatever it brings, fucks up their entire friendship?

He shuts the water off, towels his wet skin, and decides to try out a new cologne before packing his overnight bag.

~*~

Arthur leads his wide-eyed friend on a brief tour of the house, _three floors, nine bedrooms, six bathrooms, yes that’s a greenhouse out back, we’ve lived here six years, no, Merlin, we don’t have a butler named Jeeves, idiot_ before leading him up the spiral staircase where Merlin puts his backpack in one of the guest bedrooms. He leaves Merlin to unpack briefly before knocking with three harsh raps. “Enough skiving, Merlin. Let’s get some work done.”

It turns out the study is a fantastic place for them to work. Surrounded by oak tables, volumes of books that tower on shelves overhead, and an enveloping silence, they settle in. It takes a few minutes to set up. They organize their papers across one large table and sit at the table directly behind it so that they can easily turn in their swivel chairs and grab what they need.

After the necessary few minutes of banter and checking of emails and Facebook, it’s all quiet save for the clicking of keys and rustling of papers. Arthur’s intent on his report and focused on his question. He finds the links from the articles and writes his reflection with ease. The words flow easily as he completes section after section, feeling the satisfaction of accomplishing something.

He’s so wrapped up that the ping from his Gmail window startles him.

 **MEmrys:** it’s been two hours, Arthur  
 **Pendragon2:** I’m sitting right next to you, idiot.  
 **MEmrys:** didn’t want to interrupt your flow  
 **Pendragon2:** And _this_ isn’t an interruption? lol  
 **MEmrys:** I need a break. I’m going crazy here. Starting to see double.

Arthur elbows Merlin sharply.

“Ow!”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Arthur says, holding up three but flicking his ring finger up and down. If Merlin’s going to interrupt his flow, he’s going to practice some mind-fuckery.

Merlin rubs his eyes, glasses riding up on his hand as he presses his thumb and forefinger to his eyelids. Arthur nearly forgets to breathe, suddenly envisioning those glasses resting on the nightstand next to his bed. “Three,” he states after resettling the frames on his nose.

“You’ve passed my test, oh wise sage. I think we deserve a break.”

“Yes. I need to stop staring at this monitor before I go cross-eyed.”

“What a pity that would be. I bet all the boys love your eyes. Beautiful blue and all that.”

Merlin flushes a bit. “Blue eyes? Yes. That hardly does anything to improve my chances. I’m not getting any blokes as it is.”

“Me too. I mean,” Arthur stammers, “with girls. Hardly any girls. Besides the loons who father tries to set me up with.”

“No girlfriends, then? I figured you’d have them lined up around the corner, mate.”

“Not likely. I just-” Arthur can’t say it. He can’t bring himself to say what he really feels. _Just don’t want to fuck up three years of friendship_ , Arthur thinks. “I’m shy,” he lies with a smirk.

Merlin barks out a laugh. “Come on. How about that break?”

“Yeah. Fancy some Chinese take-away?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

~*~

A near-empty bottle of wine accompanies two empty Chinese carry-out cartons on the bar. Chopsticks jut out of the boxes, long forgotten since the wine proves to be infinitely more amusing to Merlin and Arthur.

Perched on leather-covered barstools, Arthur offers to top off Merlin’s glass.

“I’ve already had three, mate,” Merlin says. A gorgeous pink blush stains his cheeks. He fondles his glass. “We _do_ have to get some work done tomorrow, you know.”

“And we shall. But for now, we need to relax. And possibly get mildly pissed in the process.”

“Agreed,” Merlin relents and slides his glass to Arthur, who has the bottle at the ready. “I just want this bloody class to be over with already.”

“It won’t be much longer. How many more weeks? Five?”

“Four.”

“See?” Arthur pauses to drink some wine. “In one short month, we won’t have to look at Morrison’s smug face ever again.”

“Or hear his smug comments.”

“Or look at his smug feedback.”

“Or look at his smug, pert arse.”

Arthur pauses. “You think he has a pert arse?”

“Mm, yes,” Merlin grins with a far-off look in his eyes.

“D’you reckon he’s gay?”

“Don’t really know. He never mentions a wife or girlfriend, but he may just be private.”

Arthur swallows heavily. “What would you do? I mean, if Morrison came onto you.”

Merlin giggles. It’s fucking adorable. “Not likely. Sorry mate, I just don’t see that happening. Even if he did, he’s actually not my type.”

“How would you define your type then, if ‘pert arse’ doesn’t quite fit the description?”

Merlin worries his lip for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. “Morrison’s just too uptight, yeah? I mean, he seems all wound up. I guess I’d like someone a little more easy-going, you know? Someone I could have a laugh with as well as a serious conversation.”

Arthur’s fingers tighten around his glass. He’s too fucking scared to look up – to see how Merlin might be looking at him; so he retreats into his defense mechanism. “He’d have to be easy-going to deal with your blathering,” he says and adds a cuff to Merlin’s shoulder for good measure.

Merlin laughs it off, good sport that he is. “The pert arse is definitely a welcome bonus, though.”

The words form on Arthur’s lips before he can stop them. “Tell me how it’s different.”

The grin slides from Merlin’s face slowly. “How what’s different?”

“You know, how eh,” Arthur stumbles over his own words, unable to reel back in what he’s thrown out. “How a man is different from a woman in bed.”

“You’re assuming I’ve had sex with women before.”

Arthur blinks and doesn’t know how to respond. It’s a statement, not a question.

“Well, I have. It’s like two different worlds. I mean, the couple of experiences I’ve had with women - years ago, mind you – they were so soft and docile. But with a man, it’s all hard edges and muscle and rough stubble. And to trust someone enough to give up control to them? It’s fucking fantastic.”

“Hm,” Arthur runs his thumb over the side of his wine glass, his gaze focused entirely on the action.

Merlin hesitates momentarily before asking, “So you mean to tell me you’ve never messed around with a bloke before? Ever?”

“Once,” he admits. “It was a couple years ago. I was out at a bar for Gwaine’s birthday. We were trying to drink each other under the table. This girl had been flirting with me all night, and I’d managed to get her on the dance floor. I thought I had a good shot at getting in her pants, so I went to the bar to get us a couple of drinks. When I looked around for my mates, they were all gone. Every single one. Found out later that they’d all been put out because Gwaine was puking in the loo.”

Merlin snorts. “At least he made it to the loo and didn’t like vomit all over your shoes.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, glad he wasn’t a witness to Gwaine’s inability to handle tequila. “So there I was, two drinks in my hands, no mates, and when I’d wandered back out to the dance floor, the girl was gone too. So I went and sat in a corner like a sad sack.”

“Poor thing,” Merlin coos.

“Yeah. I must have looked pretty damn sad as well sitting there alone, because that’s when this bloke sat down with me and started talking. Well, I suppose he was chatting me up, but I didn’t know that at the time.”

“Let me guess. You drank both of the drinks.”

“Waste not, want not. Throwing away a perfectly good drink would be considered alcohol abuse, and I don’t believe in alcohol abuse, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, making a _get on with it_ motion with his hand. “So the bloke…”

“He seemed nice enough. We talked about footie for a while – it was fucking fantastic to speak to someone in a bar who knew what _offside_ meant – and he bought me a drink. I’d nearly forgotten about being left behind. And I really didn’t notice that he’d moved closer to me on the bench.”

“Yeah?” Merlin asks, leaning forward minutely.

“Yeah. I’d said something to make him laugh, and the next thing I knew, he leaned over and jammed his tongue down my throat.”

“What did you do?” Merlin’s hand slides off of the glass and rests next to Arthur’s on the bar.

“I shoved him off, of course, and got the fuck out of there,” Arthur grins.

“So you didn’t like it, then?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“What didn’t you like about it?”

“Let’s see. His lips were chapped. He jammed his tongue down my throat like he was trying to taste my stomach. And he had rotten ale breath.”

Merlin’s nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, it truly was. So there you have it, Merlin. My experience was, as you put it, disgusting.”

Merlin sits up straighter, and the bright flash of a challenge breaks up his the glazed-over drunken look in his eyes. He stands up and pokes index finger into Arthur’s chest. “That’s shite. I demand a rematch. Or whatever.”

“A rematch? Wouldn’t you have to be the bloke at the bar for it to be a rematch?”

“Yes. No. Technicalities, Arthur. Kissing a man is not that bad. It’s fucking brilliant, actually. And I want to prove it to you.” Merlin’s gaze falls to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur’s heart hammers, feeling like it’ll beat right out of his chest. He reaches for the sarcasm, to say, _yeah, right, I’m sure you can make me change my mind,_ and roll his eyes, but he can’t. He just can’t. So he simply nods. “Yeah. Okay. A rematch.”

Merlin grins lopsidedly, his eyes still trained on Arthur’s mouth. “You won’t be disappointed this time, mate. It’s just an experiment, yeah?”

Arthur nods again, and Merlin places one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and the other on Arthur’s jaw, tilting his head up. Arthur’s eyes slide shut, and he parts his lips, but that’s not where Merlin’s kiss lands.

He feels a gentle press of lips against his chin, and again on his temple. Merlin’s long, slender fingers caress the side his neck, sliding around back, squeezing gently there as he places several kisses to Arthur’s jaw.

Arthur inhales in what he hopes is not an embarrassingly loud manner. That’s when he feels Merlin’s lips first tug gently at his top lip, then the bottom, and Arthur’s hands find their way to Merlin’s bony hips before he can stop himself.

The next kiss is pleasant and firm against his lips, and Arthur returns the pressure, tightening his grip on Merlin’s hips. Merlin tilts his head a bit more, changing the angle. Arthur wants to remember this and opens his eyes and Merlin’s nowhere near close enough, so he tugs Merlin’s hips, and Merlin steps forward. And then, _oh fuck_ Merlin’s tongue licks across Arthur’s bottom lip.

Arthur’s knees spread apart.

His lips part for Merlin, and his entire world shifts when Merlin’s tongue dips inside his mouth, touching his, still tasting faintly of white wine. He’s dimly aware of moaning low and needy when Merlin’s tongue slides against his. Arthur’s hands roam up Merlin’s back as he returns the kiss, and, emboldened, pushes his tongue into Merlin’s mouth.

Suddenly, Merlin pulls away with a victorious grin plastered on his face and flops back onto his barstool. “I win!”

Arthur struggles with this. He wants to pull Merlin back into his arms, to see where that kiss might take them. He wants to tell Merlin it was the best kiss he’d ever had; that he could very well wrap himself inside of that kiss and live in it for the rest of his life; that he’s wanted to kiss him like that for ages; and that he wants to kiss every part of Merlin’s body.

But the fear inside of him chokes those words back. He can’t do it; so he shrugs instead, and feels like a fucking coward for it. “It was alright. Nothing special.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and laughs. “Oh, please. Given two more minutes, I could’ve had my wicked way with you on that bar.”

Probably. “Hardly.”

Merlin shrugs. “Alright then, Hot Lips. Whatever you say. Let’s get to bed then, yeah? Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yes. We’re going to finish this project tomorrow. It’s getting done, come hell or high water.”

“That’s the plan.”

Later, in the solitude of his own room, Arthur strokes himself roughly, coming over his fist and stomach, the feeling of Merlin’s tongue in his mouth hot in his memory.

~*~

The coffeemaker hisses the last of its contents into the pot, the bacon is sizzling and the eggs are cooking when Arthur hears the pad of bare feet on the kitchen tile behind him.

“Morning,” Merlin croaks.

Arthur mumbles in return. “Coffee’s nearly done.”

“Got any tea?”

Arthur turns, and Merlin’s sleep-tousled hair sticks up everywhere. There’s a fine line of dark stubble across his chin; Arthur wonders what that stubble might feel like scratching across his cheek. “You and father both, with your incessant need for tea,” he says, shaking his head.

“You can take a man out of England, but you can’t take tea from an Englishman.”

Arthur puts on the kettle and fetches a tea bag. “Sleep okay?”

“Fantastic. The bed was plush as hell.”

“Only the softest for us. It’s like sleeping on kitten fur.”

“Arthur!” Merlin says as Arthur sets the tea in front of him. “That’s repulsive!”

Arthur can’t help but fall in love a little bit with the indignant look on Merlin’s face. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you first walked in. It’s not like I _actually_ slaughtered kittens for our sleeping comfort. Although I think Morgana was considering it once. ”

“Don’t take the piss. That’s not funny! How can you think of abusing kittens? They’re _kittens_ , for Christ’s sake. They’re all fluffy and cuddly and they _purr_ , Arthur.”

Merlin looks adorable with those giant blue sad panda eyes, blinking up at Arthur with pouting lips - those lips which felt like heaven last night. Arthur’s lips tingle at the memory of it and he slides his tongue against the roof of his mouth, pretending he’s licking up at Merlin’s tongue.

“Okay. Fine. I decree that in the House of Pendragon we shall no longer make reference to kittens save for discussion of their adorable qualities,” he says as the scent of bacon fills the room. “Happy now?”

“I suppose,” Merlin says as Arthur sets a cup of tea in front of him. His stomach growls at the smell of the food. “You know, they say the way to a man’s heart-”

“-is through his stomach,” Arthur says as he slides a plateful of bacon and eggs to Merlin. Merlin grins and Arthur’s heart predictably squeezes. He watches Merlin tuck in to his breakfast, and he thinks about the possible mornings ahead of them where he’d be cooking for Merlin, sharing breakfast, the newspaper, banter, little glances, and a kiss goodbye as one of them departs for work.

Reservations and fear be damned. Today, Arthur would throw caution to the wind and make his feelings known. He summons the courage of a king and steels himself for either glorious victory or a tail-between-the-legs defeat.

~*~

Really, working side by side in the study an hour later hadn’t figured into Arthur’s master plan of romancing his best mate. While showering, he’d brainstormed some seduction techniques, which included such gems as holding a boom box under Merlin’s window and playing In Your Eyes (but he didn’t find himself as cool as John Cusak), kissing him over a cake whilst sitting cross-legged on the dining room table (but he didn’t want to rely too much on John Huges-style clichés), and reciting Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 (but he really didn’t fancy himself to be a Jane Austen character).

Arthur feels it’s high time to reassess his wooing skills. If courting Merlin includes not talking, typing up research and generally ignoring each other to work quietly, then Arthur thinks he’s well on the way to landing Merlin in his bed.

Two hours tick by. Arthur’s matrix of research articles, which lie sprawled across the table, have gradually been incorporated into his paper. When his Word doc spills from page 28 into page 29, the words start blurring together on the monitor. His mind wanders to last night’s kiss; how Merlin’s lips felt so strong sliding against his, how they’d feel if they clamped around his nipple, and how they would look wrapped around his cock.

His dick fills with the thought of it.

“Hey,” Merlin says softly, knee bumping against his own. He’d been so lost at the thought of Merlin swallowing his cock that he hadn’t even noticed Merlin scooting closer. “Ready for a break yet?”

“Yeah,” Arthur replies. “I only have to incorporate three more articles in this paper. God, I’m so close - so fucking close I can taste it.”

“Hm,” Merlin narrows his focus on Arthur as he works. The tip of his pink tongue juts out to lick the corner of his mouth and his eyes, those deep blue eyes, drop to Arthur’s lips, and then sink even lower, towards his lap, before lifting and looking Arthur in the eyes again.

 _Fuck,_ Arthur thinks, _fuck fuck fuckity fuck I am royally fucked._ He feels the hot flush spread from his chest, up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.

What he really wants is to rub his palm across the obvious bulge in his jeans. He grips the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turn white. “Fancy going for a swim?”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth lifts in a half-grin. “Swim, then lunch?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says and hopes that it really didn’t come out sounding as breathy as he thought it did.

Time for a cold shower.

~*~

In the poolroom, Arthur’s not surprised at all – in some respects, at least. Having spent some time studying the creamy colour of Merlin’s neck during Dr. Morrison’s lectures, he’d known that Merlin’s skin would be pale under his tee shirts and jeans. He’d imagined long, skinny limbs as well.

But Merlin’s black chest hair takes him by surprise. A smattering of dark curls extends from one nipple to the other, pointing downward slightly in an upturned triangle. Arthur tries not to look; he tries to act naturally. Merlin’s sitting on the edge of the pool, water lapping his shins as he smiles at Arthur, kicking the warm water at him. Arthur laughs and he splashes back up at Merlin, and can’t help but look at the sparse, course hairs that travel up the insides of Merlin’s thighs.

They race, swimming laps until they tire. Merlin attempts diving from the board, obviously trying so hard to be graceful and impressive, but he hits the water with a solid smack.

Arthur winces. “Alright, mate?” he asks when Merlin resurfaces, laughing breathlessly.

Merlin swims over to him, wet, black fringe flattened to his forehead. Water drips down from his hair, tiny clear beads that splash onto his pale shoulder.

Suddenly, Merlin’s close - swimming so that he’s crowding Arthur against the wall, the stones harsh against Arthur’s back. “Dunno,” Merlin says, his face close enough that Arthur can see a few tiny freckles across Merlin’s forehead. “Do I look alright?”

Arthur’s eyes travel over Merlin’s skin. “Your chest-” he starts, but can’t seem to finish that thought.

Merlin cocks an eyebrow.

“It’s pink,” Arthur says and reaches out to touch the wet skin before he can stop himself. “Does it hurt?”

“Tingles a little,” Merlin replies. His eyes land on Arthur’s fingers on his chest.

Arthur feels weightless, bobbing in the water with his fingers on Merlin’s skin, his desire apparent. He’s grateful for the water; solid earth wouldn’t be strong enough to hold him during this moment.

Merlin leans in close, a hair’s breadth away from Arthur’s face. “Think I’ll make it?” Merlin’s breath ghosts across Arthur’s lips.

Arthur smiles. Not now – not yet – but soon. He pushes Merlin back. “You’ll live. You just smacked yourself on the water, Merlin. Stop being such a girl.”

They flail in the water a bit more, attempting unsuccessfully to drown each other and give up when a loud rumble in Arthur’s belly tells them it’s time for lunch.

 

~*~

Arthur’s in a groove. He’s writing away, and the finish line is within sight. He’s got one article on the table behind him that he hasn’t yet written about, when Merlin, that smug fuck, shouts “DONE! I’M FUCKING DONE!” and slams the lid to his laptop closed.

The wheels of Merlin’s chair roll across the study floor and Merlin leans half-over into Arthur’s lap. His head obscures the view of Arthur’s screen as he tries to gauge Arthur’s progress. “You make a better door than a window, Merlin,” Arthur states. Merlin’s dark hair curls around his ears and at the nape of his neck. It still smells like shampoo and faintly of chlorine.

“Page 33? How close are you?”

Arthur turns his head, and fuck if Merlin’s not all on display in front of him, creamy neck and long, dark eyelashes and sharp shoulder blades. He imagines how Merlin would feel beneath him: all angular, sinewy and full of hidden power.

Merlin clears his throat.

“This is all I have left,” Arthur says, holding up the final article. “One solitary article stands between me and completion.”

Merlin pulls back, leaving Arthur missing his warmth and the smell of his soap. “I want you to finish too, Arthur. Come on. You can do it.”

With a gentle shove, Merlin pushes Arthur’s chair back towards his laptop. Arthur had previously planned on where he’d incorporate the article, finds the spot in the document, and starts adding commentary.

While Arthur weaves in the final piece to his puzzle, Merlin stands behind him. His fingers wrap around the back of the chair, grazing Arthur’s shoulders. “You can do it. So close. Come on, Arthur. We’re free for the summer once you’re done.” The last words pour hot down Arthur’s neck, and Arthur shivers with the knowledge that Merlin wants this just as much as he does.

Despite Merlin’s touch, Arthur still manages to focus and finish his thoughts. The words he’d practiced in his head pour through his fingertips, and he’s glad to end this paper, this course, this torture that is graduate school as he clicks save and closes the document, snapping the laptop lid shut.

“Finished. Can’t believe that I’m fucking finished!”

Merlin’s smiling behind him, the corners of his eyes crinkled up with joy, and Arthur can’t stop himself as he launches out of his chair, elation carrying him forward and running from the study, laughing the entire way.

Merlin’s a step behind him, running down the hall. Arthur screams like a barbarian, and Merlin hollers randomly, both of them laughing at the whole thing. They run around the pool, in and out of every single room of the mansion, running up the spiral staircase then back down, dashing in and out of the kitchen, and Merlin, that cheeky fucking bastard who’s in front of Arthur suddenly, looks back over his shoulder and says, “Bet I score better than you!”

At those words, the victory romp throughout the house turns into a chase. “You’re dead, Emrys,” Arthur laughs and launches after Merlin, who dashes out of the second floor’s guest room and Arthur’s hot on his heels.

“I can see it now,” Merlin huffs as he runs into another guest room, Arthur right behind him. Merlin runs behind the large bed which occupies the middle of the room, taunting Arthur from the other side. “Emrys: A. Pendragon:B. Morrison’s comment would be: _While I appreciate the effort and you raise valid points, Mr. Pendragon, you failed to fully explicate_ \- OOF!”

Arthur tackles Merlin down to the bed, his arms wrapped around Merlin’s waist. Once he’s got Merlin writhing underneath him (and Arthur thinks that maybe, just maybe he could live the rest of his life with the sound of Merlin’s giggling in his ears), he pins Merlin’s wrists above his head.

Merlin’s chest is still heaving with the physical exertion and with laughter. Arthur’s knees are on either side of Merlin’s hips and Merlin’s long, slender fingers slide across Arthur’s wrist and over the top of his hand, a gentle caress.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes, and that’s all it takes for Arthur’s resolve to snap.

He leans down and takes Merlin’s lips in a greedy, hungry kiss. Merlin’s moaning underneath him and tugging his hands free to cradle Arthur’s jaw, grasp the back of his neck, rifle through his hair, tug on his shoulder then fist in his shirt as if he has no idea what he should do next and Arthur’s feeling quite the same way, except his hips answer that question for him as he ruts down against Merlin.

They kiss, frenzied and hard, Merlin moaning as Arthur’ tongue curls around his. Arthur grinds himself against Merlin’s hip. The pressure is sweet, but not enough, and just as he’s thinking that they _really_ need to get naked, Merlin’s fingers make their way to his jeans, flicking the button open and pulling down the zip.

Arthur wants Merlin’s cock like he’s never wanted anything before in his life. He can feel the hot, solid line of it pressing up against his hip, and he rubs his palm down over it. Merlin hisses underneath him and Arthur wants to make that sound happen over and over, a thrill running through him at knowing _he_ elicited Merlin’s pleasure.

Merlin unzips his own jeans open and tugs them down over his hips. Arthur lifts up to give him room, but Merlin only gets his jeans as far as his ankles. Arthur’s so focused on the sight of Merlin’s cock jutting out from a nest of curly dark hair that he can’t be bothered to get his own jeans and underwear all the way off.

They’re dangling from his right ankle when Merlin suddenly wraps his arm around Arthur’s waist and flips their positions. Arthur’s quite impressed, as Merlin’s ankles are still bound together by his jeans. The sudden shock of having a half-naked man between his legs is superseded when Merlin licks his palm, slowly and deliberately, looks Arthur in the eyes, and takes both of their cocks in his hand.

“Fuck,” Arthur whispers and the world narrows to Merlin’s slender fingers wrapped around his cock and the hard press of Merlin’s dick against his own. His hips start moving and they’re sliding against each other, Arthur’s hand joining Merlin’s. Merlin moans at the added pressure, his breath huffing across Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur looks down to see their cocks sliding together, two flushed cockheads peeking out from the opening of their laced fingers. He can’t pry his eyes away, as if the world exists between their hands.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes into Merlin’s mouth. It’s so good, this rhythm of his hips and the stroke of their hands, precome dripping from both of their cocks, so good that Arthur almost doesn’t even recognize his own voice saying, “fuck me, Merlin. Gods, please fuck me.”

Merlin’s hand stills on their cocks and Arthur whimpers embarrassingly at the loss of sensation. “Are you sure?” Merlin asks. His brows are knit together in concern. He bites his lower lip once before the words come tumbling out of his mouth, all rushed together, “Because it was only yesterday that you first properly snogged a man, and I don’t want to jump into anything if you’re not ready, and I don’t fancy being your experiment. I mean-”

“Merlin-”

“-if you want to have a one-off, I really don’t think that’s what I want out of this, and-”

“Merlin-”

“-I mean, are you really sure, because if not, we can just-”

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts, finally gaining Merlin’s attention. “I want this,” he says, stroking their cocks languidly, “I’ve wanted this – you - for quite some time now. It’s not some experiment,” he slides his thumb over the head of Merlin’s cock, and Merlin inhales sharply, “and I truly want you to fuck me. Only you, Merlin.”

“Yeah,” Merlin whispers, “yeah, okay.” Merlin’s gaze lowers and the pressure is gone from Arthur’s dick, and he feels Merlin’s finger tracing lower and lower until he’s touching Arthur’s hole. It feels odd, and Arthur can feel it clenching against the gentle pressure Merlin’s applying.

Arthur nods once. “Do you have any-”

“Yeah, I do,” Merlin says, reaching backwards into his back jeans pocket and digging out two packets.

Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “Presumptuous of you.”

Merlin’s ripping the lube packet open with his teeth, coating two fingers. Arthur swallows and his brows knit together. There’s a faint pressure against his hole again, slick teasing with soft little strokes. “Just had a gut feeling,” Merlin says with a smug little grin. The pressure grows and suddenly he feels Merlin’s fingertip slip inside of him. His body clenches against it.

“You did?” Arthur manages. Merlin’s finger slides deeper, but Arthur’s still not gleaning any pleasure from it.

“Yeah. Think I couldn’t tell how much you liked that kiss?”

Arthur laughs and then feels Merlin’s palm flush against his skin.

“You’re a shit liar, you know,” Merlin says, his breaths puffing hot across the tip of Arthur’s dick. The stretch inside widens, a white hot burn as Merlin slides in a second finger.

“I wasn’t _lying_ , Merlin, I just can’t let your head get too – AH FUCK!” Arthur’s vision goes out of focus as he feels pleasure twist inside of him, Merlin’s fingers bringing forth a nearly excruciating sensation of furious pleasure. Arthur pants and his back arches.

He’s reduced to begging incoherently as he fucks himself down onto Merlin’s fingers.

Merlin leans forward and kisses Arthur who moans helplessly against Merlin’s lips. Merlin twists his fingers inside and a thrum of pleasure rolls through Arthur’s body.

Merlin adds a third finger. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Arthur hisses, spreading his legs farther apart. White hot want ratchets up his body and he feels desperate for more. “Please, Merlin. _Please_.”

“Steady now,” Merlin says, gently pulling his fingers from Arthur’s body, reaching for the condom, rolling it on his dick and lubing it up. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Arthur,” he says and presses Arthur’s knees up towards his chest. Arthur holds them there. There’s a blunt pressure at Arthur’s hole as Merlin says. “Fantasized about taking you while we were in class.”

As Merlin enters him, Arthur’s stretched open more than he thought was possible. It stings, but Merlin’s leaning down, sliding in slowly. He places gentle kisses along Arthur’s collarbone, breathes into the dip of his neck before looking back up at Arthur. “I’ve wanted you for years. Wanted to take you and make you mine.” Merlin’s hips are flush against Arthur’s arse. He stays there, and the tendons in his throat flex with patience.

Arthur’s fingers trace down Merlin’s biceps, curling around them. “Take me, then, Merlin. Move.” Merlin sighs, his arms flexing as he thrusts his hips, fucking Arthur shallow and tight. The room smells heady with sex and sweat and Arthur wants Merlin like this forever, his sweet, considerate fucking and his cheek pressed to Arthur’s chest.

Arthur slides his hand down, moves to cup Merlin’s arse. “Harder. Come on, Merlin.”

Merlin lands a kiss on Arthur’s chest, then kneels upright, grasping Arthur’s hips in his hands. He thrusts hard once. “Fuck yeah,” Arthur says, and apparently that’s all Merlin needs.

He snaps his hips, fucking harder, his balls slapping Arthur’s arse with each thrust. The initial pain of Merlin’s dick stretching him twists into pleasure as Merlin thrusts, and the new angle has Merlin’s cock sending sparks of pleasure throughout his body.

“So fucking tight, Arthur,” Merlin pants and beads of sweat trail down his temple, sliding down his neck.

Arthur wants badly to lick it, but that would mean breaking the intense connection that they have. That is not an option, so he lets go of one knee in order to take a firm hold of his cock and strokes. Arthur’s toes flex and he feels his orgasm rolling over him, crashing like a wave as he comes, spurting two thick lines across his stomach and chest, the rest coating his fingers.

Merlin follows closely after, collapsing on Arthur as his hips still and Arthur can feel Merlin’s cock pulsing inside of his arse. Merlin huffs softly, jerking with each shock of his orgasm. Arthur’s hand rubs between Merlin’s sharp shoulder blades, feeling each huff ease into a steady pattern of breathing as Merlin recovers.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, and time grinds to a halt. The day spins around them, hazy; sun spills through the windows and a fly zips through it, illuminated like a tiny spark. Arthur wraps his legs around Merlin’s waist, keeping him there, playing connect-the-dots with the little brown spots along Merlin’s left shoulder. Merlin traces tiny circles or something, Arthur can’t quite figure it out, along his side, over the contours of his ribs.

Time finally picks up again. The automatic sprinkler ticks to life outside and two dogs bark at each other far off in the distance. Arthur unravels himself lazily from Merlin, coming back with a damp cloth to clean them with. He blushes at the endearments Merlin whispers as he wipes first Merlin’s stomach, then his own, wanting to hold onto them, keeping them twisted away in his chest, his own private store.

They doze away the afternoon.

~*~

That night, Arthur cooks for Merlin – a simple stir fry, yet Merlin treats it as if it were filet mignon. Arthur feeds Merlin from the tips of his chopsticks and when Merlin blushes, Arthur stores that away as well.

~*~

Later, Merlin comes to Arthur’s bed.

There’s absolutely nothing sexy about it- at least, not at first.

“Merlin. Mind your elbow? It’s like an iron poker in my side.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t stick your arse out so far into the bed, I’d have a bit more room.”

“Are you saying I have a fat arse?”

“No.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining earlier.” Arthur shifts to face Merlin and scoots closer.

“You mean this thing?” Merlin says, kissing Arthur lightly as he cups his arse. “Let me show you just how much I like it, darling.” When the kiss deepens, Arthur moans around Merlin’s tongue.

Arthur’s mouth isn’t the only thing that Merlin licks open. He’s glad his face is buried in the pillow so Merlin doesn’t get the full effect of the rather embarrassing whimpers that escape him when Merlin’s tongue slides into him the first time.

After Arthur comes with two of Merlin’s fingers buried inside of him and his cock releasing into Merlin’s mouth, Arthur thinks that maybe he can live for the rest of his life with Merlin’s bony elbows jabbing into his side.

~*~

One month later, Arthur sets down a heavy box labeled **Books** in black marker with a whump on the living room carpet of his apartment. “Fuck’s sake, Merlin. I probably already _own_ most of these!”

Merlin’s right behind him, holding one box teetering precariously on top of another. Just as it’s about to slide off, Arthur turns, grabbing it. “Good catch.”

“How do you even own this much rubbish? Seriously, your flat was what, 100 by 100 feet? How’d you make it all fit?”

“Magic,” he replies, setting his box down.

A knock at the open door interrupts them.

“I have a certified envelope for Arthur Pendragon, and one for Merlin Emrys?”

“That’s us,” Arthur says, jogging up to the man in the brown uniform.

“Sign here, please.” Arthur scribbles AP with the little stylus, nearly illegible, across the man’s handheld monitor. Merlin’s _M. Emrys_ is much more elegant.

“Tah,” Arthur says as the man walks away. He hesitates before opening the envelope, meeting Merlin’s gaze.

“Ready for the moment of truth?”

Merlin grins, fine lines forming at the corners of his eyes. Fucking adorable. “Ready.”

They rip open the envelopes and pull out their papers, flipping them over immediately for Morrison’s feedback. “You first,” Arthur says.

“Mr. Emrys – a thoughtful, thorough analysis of your question and all research included fully supports your conclusion. It’s been a pleasure. **A** Sincerely, M. Morrison.” Merlin’s still grinning, nodding at the paper in Arthur’s hands. “Now you.”

“Mr. Pendragon – your articles and your review of literature support your question and all research included thoroughly explicates your conclusion. A job well done. **A** Sincerely, M. Morrison.” Arthur beams at Merlin.

“See?” Merlin asks, taking the papers from Arthur and setting them on top of the box. He steps closer, wrapping both arms around his waist to pull him in an embrace. “You spent the entire month anguishing about this ridiculous paper and there it is. An **A**.”

“And you claimed I’d get a **B** ,” Arthur replies with a smirk, pulling Merlin closer and nuzzling his neck. “Now how do you propose we celebrate?”

“Well,” he replies with Arthur pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck, “I say we finish getting those boxes unloaded.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Get all of my things unpacked.”

“Yeah, unpacking,” Arthur says, cupping Merlin’s arse as he starts kissing his jaw.

“Then we can take our sweaty selves in the shower and you can fuck me against the shower wall.”

“Always did like the way you think.”

“I am the smarter one out of the two of us, you know. That kiss rematch was all my idea.”

“Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

And Arthur silences him with his a kiss.


End file.
